


The Death and Life of Rodageitmososa.

by elisi, redjaded (timeheist)



Series: The Redjay [15]
Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-30
Updated: 2015-01-04
Packaged: 2018-03-04 10:27:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3064382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elisi/pseuds/elisi, https://archiveofourown.org/users/timeheist/pseuds/redjaded
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Roda knew, at that very moment, that she was going to die.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cold Open

**Author's Note:**

> Co-authored by elisi and redjaded (floki). Structured like an episode, with a Cold Open and Four Acts.
> 
> Chapter by [redjaded](http://archiveofourown.org/users/floki/pseuds/redjaded).

As soon as Roda 'landed' (and Rassilon, she never wanted to travel by vortex manipulator ever again. How did Jack stand it? She felt about ready to throw up) Roda knew that she'd made a mistake.

When the Seeker had left to go travelling, wherever it was he'd gone, he'd made it clear to both herself and Jack that they were to keep calling his planet their second home. Roda couldn't speak for Jack - in fact, in nineteen years she'd made a point of not talking about it - but she'd not been able to bring herself to return while the Seeker was away. The wounds had been... too fresh. There was so much she wanted to talk to him about before they would even be close to the same again. But, mortally injured that she was, the idea had come to her in some sort of perverted epiphany that although she couldn't get to her TARDIS in time, and she couldn't use Jack's vortex manipulator to do so, hers wasn't the only Zero Room left in the Universe. Of course, the Doctor and the Master would have Zero Rooms, but she wasn't touching that idea with a barge pole and besides, that still left the problem of finding either of them. But there was one Time Lord left in time and space who did have a Zero Room that would always be in the same place: the Seeker. And if she could just find a route through his planet where she wouldn’t encounter any Toclafane, then she was in the money.

Not that she'd been - was still - thinking about it in quite as much detail as all that. The Toclafane hadn't even crossed her mind, not until...

Plus she hadn't been entirely certain how to get to the Zero Room quickly - she didn't know the precise coordinates - but she had those of the planet itself memorised. She'd planned to go to her own bolthole, her library, and then figure out what to do next. She'd switched to respiratory bypass after kissing Jack; she probably had enough strength in her to limp that far if she didn't have to go through the crowds like there were back on earth. Maybe she'd make it, and if she didn't then, well, at least she'd die on a planet with red suns... It had hit her, in the second that she'd teleported, that she would never see Gallifrey again, and - for all that she'd argued with the Doctor - that was the final nail in the coffin.

But the sight that had greeted her on the Seeker's planet wasn't disorganised mountains of books as she'd expected, but red grass, and silver trees. She wondered for a moment if perhaps she had already died, perhaps there was an afterlife... Perhaps this was it. But then the pain had returned, searing and red-hot, her broken body screaming in agony with every sense she had, and she'd closed her eyes... for just a second... and when she'd opened them again she was very much in hell.

"It's the Outlaw!"

"The Lady Redjay!"

"The Lord Seeker will be so happy!"

“But the Lord Seeker isn’t here...:”

Roda knew, at that very moment, that she was going to die. There was no 'maybe' about it, no 'perhaps I can reach a Zero Room'. Surrounding her were the things of nightmares; childhood nightmares, mere legends and very real nightmares. And with those nightmares came others. The Master, Daleks, Time War, Gallifrey, Rassilon... She suddenly felt very, very small, and very, very alone. There was no Robin Hood, no knight in shining armour, no glorious death that meant something. It was just the end.

As the hideous metal spheres zoomed in around her like some sort of twisted mobile, Rodageitmososa finally gave in.

(As she slipped out of consciousness she thought she heard the sound of a TARDIS, somewhere in the far far distance… But the darkness was calling to her, and then she heard no more.)


	2. Act One

_In another universe_  
The Seeker watched the emptiness of space for a long time, letting his mind go over what had happened, making it all fit.

Absentmindedly bringing up his hand to his neck, he took a deep breath as he assigned this latest encounter to a whole new sub-folder in his mind. Lessons… not so much learned, as reinforced. (If that was what this had been.)

Yet, it had been one amongst many in his travels - and the others had been more constructive. Jack… He smiled. Jack would get a surprise when he returned. And he’d win round Roda and the Doctor, eventually - it might never be the same, but he would be able to build something new on the ruins. And there had been other valuable experiences and lessons and ventures… What had started out as an exercise in clearing his head - and getting away from well-meaning, but interfering, family and friends - so he could start his life’s work in as effective and efficient a manner as possible, had turned into so much more: A chance to see those friends and family in a new light, interacting with them in ways he’d not thought possible, and to test his theories in practice, with incredibly useful (if sometimes also painful) outcomes. It had been near five years he estimated - taking in all the other adventures along the way - but although it was less than he’d expected, he felt that after this latest encounter he was ready to return.

“OK, Harvey,” he said to the Toclafane always hovering somewhere above his right shoulder (a familiar and comforting presence wherever he had gone) “-let’s go home!”

The calculations were complex, but the failsafes worked like they should, and then he was _home_...

It wasn’t until he was actually in his own universe that he realised how off-balance the other worlds had made him, comparatively. Not that any traveller didn’t swiftly adjust to a moving deck or a change in altitude, but to feel everything suddenly _fit_ , like stepping onto solid ground again, was an unexpected, but welcome, pleasure.

Setting the co-ordinates for his own planet (his own bed, his own house - tomorrow morning he would watch the suns rise from his tower and everything would be right in this and every other world), his TARDIS suddenly seemed to throw a hissy fit (had he damaged her? For a second a cold flash of fear washed over him), but then he realised that she was simply pulling the same trick the Doctor’s TARDIS always did - taking him to wherever (or rather whenever) he needed to be. Maybe Jack had arranged some sort of Welcome Back party? The Seeker wouldn’t put it past him…

(Nineteen years after he'd left, he noticed. A strangely long time. And strangely specific. The TARDIS was honing in on a date and time with minute precision. Why?)

Stepping out into the courtyard of his house, he looked around, puzzled. The place was completely empty, except for a few Toclafane who made a beeline straight for him. But their welcome wasn't what he had expected.

"The Lady Redjay!"

"She came but moments ago!"

"She is injured!"

"She isn't talking to us!"

He stared, willing his mind to wrap itself around what they were saying.

"Where?" was his only question as he reached out to the nearest Toclafane, seeing through their eyes where she lay - a valley somewhere, miles and miles away; and without a moment's hesitation he turned back into his TARDIS.

But even though he'd watched through others' eyes, he wasn't prepared for the sight that greeted him.

Kneeling beside her he almost felt sick, and for a moment didn’t even dare touch her.

The deep stab wound in her chest brought with it far too recent memories, except this time he would not be able to fix it easily… The rest of her was so _broken_ , her lungs collapsed (judging by the look of her chest), every part of her body that he could see bruised and bloody with several broken bones - even her face was grazed, and her clothing was so soaked with blood he wasn't sure whether or not the top had been red originally.

He had memories from his infancy of his father torturing the Redjay - and he knew that she had eventually regenerated from the build-up of injuries - but this was worse.

(“You see this, Alexander?” his father had said, one hand knotted in and out of the Redjay's hair, the other held too tightly around her bruised throat, “This is what our race should never be.” She'd been all over bruises and cuts, too weak to even support her own weight... And he suddenly knew what his father had meant. This was _wrong_. This kind of hurt was unnatural on a level so bone-deep he felt it like a physical blow. They were the mightiest race in the universe, they should _never_ be this. What had done this to her? He would find them and have the Toclafane slice them to ribbons. Slowly. While he watched.)

But first of all he had to save her...

She was so deathly pale he knew she had to be on the cusp - as far as he could tell she'd already slipped into unconsciousness.

(For a second he didn’t know what to do… He could remember Ianto, dying, the terror of uncertainty he had felt then. But Ianto had been human, and he himself had only been a child. Roda must have used her last strength to find her way to him - and he would not let her down. No matter what it took. He had the power of empires at his fingertips, he would find a way.)

With utmost gentleness he cradled her face, and - closing his eyes - touched his forehead to hers, delving deeper into her mind than he ever had.

In a flash second he absorbed a brief imprint of her most recent memories - a conversation with the Doctor that had unbalanced her (the saved, but lost, Gallifrey, of course - Missy had been a very useful source of information, all told) and then Torchwood hunting a serial killer… And Roda (so stubborn, so focussed, so brave) of course giving her everything, no matter the cost. And the cost had been far too high. Even if they’d caught, and shot, the killer in the end.

Deeper and deeper he went, through rapidly closing darkness, until he found the tiniest spark, a mere flicker of consciousness - so deeply hidden he almost missed it.

 _‘Roda,’_ he whispered, _‘Roda, it’s me. I found you. Hold on, just **please** hold on - I’ll bring you home, I’ll bring you back. I promise you.’_

The tiny flicker grew for a moment, a spark of _Redjay_ that made his throat catch.

 _‘Too late.’_ It was like the lightest breeze, too faint to even stir a leaf. _‘... Missed you. Tell everyone I'm sorry. Someone'll pick up the mantle.’_

And then - she was gone.

He sat in disbelief, waiting for a golden spark that never came. Instead there was just nothing. No phoenix-like burst of fire; no slow change, like a tide coming in; no abrupt transformation like lightning searing itself across the landscape. Just nothing. Her mind fell away from around him like darkness receding before the morning sun - as insubstantial as shadows, and as impossible to catch.

(He remembered her - the other world her - furious and glorious and ever antagonistic, never giving him a moment’s peace. She couldn’t be dead. Such a force of nature couldn't just be gone, destroyed by something as inconsequential and unremarkable as that serial killer.)

“No,” he said softly, but firmly. “ _No_. This is not how it ends.”

With utmost care and gentleness he picked up her lifeless body, and carried it into his TARDIS. (The questions in his mind were multiplying, but for the moment he merely stacked them up in neat piles.)

“You listen lover, even if you cannot hear. I am the Seeker, and I will find a way. I promise you.”

He would accept nothing else.


	3. Act Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter by [elisi](http://archiveofourown.org/users/elisi).

The view was as spectacular as always. Whilst away, when things had gotten difficult, it was the view from the top of his tower that he had thought of - his private refuge, his personal wonder of the universe.

Except now his eyes were registering none of the splendour. The burnt orange sky curved above him, twin suns were rising behind the mountains scattering golden warmth and light over his world, yet, inasmuch as he took any notice, it was only to note how he had created a whole world from nothing, yet his friend had died in his arms and he had been helpless to save her.

She was currently safely ensconced in a stasis-field, out of time, and he’d run several tests to ensure that she wasn’t just dormant, or having a very delayed regeneration.

Slowly he sank into the seat, dismissing the world outside, but when he absentmindedly dragged a hand through his hair he was surprised at how his hand caught, only registering that it was covered in blood when he brought it in front of his face, studying it with a frown. His clothing, too, was sticky and bloody he realised, and for just a second his emotions threatened to get the better of him.

Ruthlessly he pushed them down.

Tears would not help her. Nor would self-pity or grief.

But science might.

Dismissing his stained clothing for the time being, he delved back into his mind, to the barrage of thoughts that had assailed him.

Sorting through them, carefully weighing each one, he eventually narrowed the issues down to a single point:

Had she died because her injuries were too severe to trigger regeneration - or had she run out?

She’d never spoken much about her past lives, except in passing, and he didn’t think she could be old enough to have gone through thirteen lives… Yet his father had run through his first cycle of lives in less than half her lifespan.

His eyes narrowed.

A new cycle of regenerations was a completely different problem to kick-starting one that had failed… And he couldn’t afford to be wrong. He would have one shot, nothing more.

But how to find out how old she was? The answer was immediate: Her TARDIS.

Which would be… where?

Backtrack.

Her immediate memories had been of meeting the Doctor - and then returning to Cardiff. She’d come to him using... Jack’s vortex manipulator? Yes. (Although that was now goodness knew where. She hadn’t been wearing it, so it was probably on a red grassy slope somewhere, being eaten by whatever animals were near-by. But that was not important.)

Her TARDIS would therefore still be in Cardiff. If he knew her, she’d not have brought any keys when going out on a mission, so getting in would be an issue - her symbiotic link was very strong, and goodness knew how her TARDIS had taken her death.

But first of all he should probably have a shower. Turning up covered in blood would not endear him to any TARDIS.

About an hour later, clean, and wearing fresh clothing, he - after a moment’s internal deliberation - fetched his teleport pendant and slipped on his perception filter bracelet at the same time.

This was a private errand, he didn’t want to accidentally be spotted by anyone. Not even Jack.

He found Roda’s TARDIS tucked away in an alleyway near the club that had proved so fatal, but as he laid a hand on the door he felt the dark emptiness within with a sense of dreaded, dull recognition. Except stars and eleventh dimensional matrixes folded into a mechanical were more difficult to extinguish than bodies, and he knew there would still be a consciousness somewhere inside.

“Let me in?” he whispered. “Please? There is something I need to know, and only you can tell me... “

Nothing. Except the surface of the door almost seemed to recoil from his touch. He’d never come across anything more hostile.

“I’m trying to bring her back. I promise - I _swear_ \- that if I fail I will leave you alone forever more. But I _have_ to try, and I need your help.”

Letting his head fall against the rough surface, he bit back something that might be a sob. His eyes were burning, his chest so tight he felt he couldn’t breathe.

( _‘Will you be my someone tonight?’_ A simple, blunt question, but she’d come to him - not asking questions or ever wanting anything in return, ever, just freely giving her time, her affection, her friendship, her love… They’d never used the word, but they both knew the truth. And last time they’d met he’d hurt and betrayed her in ways he’d not been keen to examine too closely. It couldn’t, couldn’t, _couldn’t_ end like this...)

And then the door swung open.

He stepped inside cautiously, the cosy red of the console room nearly black, except for a single dimly lit monitor.

Swallowing, he laid his hands on the console, knowing this was the last tangible link to his Redjay, and that he might lose that as well.

“I… need to know how many lives she has had. Can you show me all her faces?”

The TARDIS seemed to think about it for a very long time indeed, but eventually the monitor flickered to life.

~~~

Seventh face. Only just over half way. So much life stolen away… His hands curled into fists as he studied her, the bloodied scrapes across her face, not even bruising thanks to the stasis field.

Where did he go from here, though? He had exhausted all his sources, everything in his databases had come up blank. But it _had_ to be possible… _Anything_ was possible, if only you worked hard enough. And he was a genius.

Except he needed a starting point, or he could spend years going down the wrong avenues. Not that he wouldn’t do it if he had to, but he disliked wasting time on pointless endeavours.

For the first time, he conceded that maybe he should have pushed Missy harder to find out where Gallifrey might be. It was _knowledge_ he needed now, knowledge that Gallifrey had to overflowing…

And then he nearly laughed. Of course, why hadn’t he seen it before? Roda herself had given him the tools he needed!

Seconds later he stepped out of his TARDIS next to her library - she’d never settled like he’d half-hoped, but she had brought all her old books, her inheritance from her father. Who knew what might be hidden?

It took many days of searching, but eventually he found what he had been looking for. Or rather what he had been hoping for. He’d had no way of knowing whether her library actually contained anything useful for his purposes. (It wasn’t as if there was an index, just piles upon haphazardly stacked piles of ancient tomes.)

The book he now held was almost threadbare, but the entry on the Sisterhood of Karn was still legible, and - although the name only rang the faintest bell - it caught his eye. Known as ‘The Keepers of the Flame of Eternal Life’, according to legend they knew how to create an elixir that could trigger regeneration - and not just that, but control it.

The clues were faint, but he cherished them like a man in the desert finding a single drop of water. This would make all the difference. He wasn’t bothered about controlling it (although that was a fascinating avenue for a dull year, should he ever have one), but the fact that it was _possible_ , and had been done, successfully… He could work with this.

Even the fact that it had been a drink was a supremely useful clue - he didn’t think the long-dead author knew just how much that alone told him. His mind was already spinning out possibilities.

Standing, he realised that he had not eaten in… far too long. And he needed a shave. Not that he didn’t look rather neat with a beard, but he didn’t want to give his father the satisfaction.

So - food first. And then to re-create lost knowledge.

Carefully returning the book to where he had picked it up (she’d kept saying how she’d organise everything… She never had, although he suspected that she knew where everything was), he took a final look around.

“Thank you,” he said softly. The most remarkable thing about all this was how she had helped him every step of the way. Her resources had come through when his own had failed.

_‘I need her to return, so I can tell her how amazing she is.’_

She probably wouldn’t believe him though. He would have to find a way.

~~~

The cup held in his hands, the vapour from the liquid within spilling over the sides, he was glad he didn’t have to worry about his hands shaking - his upbringing had been such that he'd deliberately forced himself to master physical control at the age of barely fifty. Although there ought to be music playing… Something to mark the occasion.

On the other hand it might just be his greatest failure, compared to which the destruction of his matrix faded into insignificance. So silence it was. The zero room was calm and quiet, muted tones soothing his exhausted mind.

He only had one chance…

He’d cleaned her up as best he could, as well as removing the dirty, bloody clothing and instead dressing her in a simple, gold-embroidered red robe. (All his robes were red, so there hadn’t been much choice - not that she would care either way. But he knew that she had been a Prydonian like the Doctor and his father, and he liked the sense of adhering to official rules, in this at least. There was precious little else to adhere to. And if it didn’t work- If it didn’t work, she would be suitably attired for her funeral.)

_’This is it.’_

He had done the best he could. If it didn’t work he had gotten it wrong on a level so fundamental there was no saving it. There had been choices, complicated choices he had done his best to navigate, but even though he’d checked and triple-checked everything he could, he knew that at best he only had a fifty-fifty chance. (How long had he been working… He wasn’t really sure. Weeks, certainly, probably months. He’d tried to remember to eat, wash and shave at regular intervals, even forcing himself to sleep now and again. Although he’d never quite managed to turn his mind off.)

Reaching out he pressed the switch that would trigger the mechanism that would bring her back to life for a few precious moments - a simple set-up, based on a Sontaran design of all things. But it’d work, and that was the important part.

Her eyes fluttered, and he stepped forward, helping her to sit a little more upright. (Her face was still grazed, her body so damaged it hurt him just to look at her - and he hoped, with every fibre of his being, that the cup in his hands would light the fire that would burn it all away, and create her anew.)

“What- where am I?”

“Hush my love,” he said softly. “I’ve got you. And I am sorry, but I have to ask you to drink this. It will either hurt you more, but bring you back - or there will be no more hurt, ever. Do you trust me?”

She looked at him for the longest moment, as if seeing him from a great, great distance, then smiled gently.

“Yes.”


	4. Act Three

The wood of the burning torch felt rough against his palm. He could feel the heat, and absentmindedly followed the light cast by the flickering glow of the fire dancing across the funeral pyre. If he looked up he'd see her body, carefully wrapped, her weapons beside her. The last light of a setting sun cast ink black shadows across the landscape, and he knew that if he turned the faces of the other mourners would be painted with hues of dark orange, before darkness would creep along and envelope them all. Until he lit the pyre and sent his lover to her final rest.

> _'This is wrong', he thought. Something, somewhere deep inside, refused to believe what his own senses were telling him. The memory of her fading away in his arms was still etched on his mind so strongly that he'd barely slept since. It was irrefutable, yet he couldn't shake the feeling that this couldn't possibly be real._
> 
> _(‘Do you trust me?’ ‘Yes…’ But he’d failed her, and the fire he now carried was like a mockery of the fire he had failed to light within her.)_

Reaching out, he let the torch touch the carefully stacked wood, and after a moment a flame leapt up. And then another and another...

"Goodbye Ro-Ro," he whispered softly.

> _It had to be pride... Wounded pride that he could save the universe, but not her. Searing mortification that he'd failed. Anger - as bright as the fire he had lit - towards **her,** for being so stubborn and stupid and brave that she had ended up so mortally wounded that not all his skill and ingenuity could bring her back. _

The flames were now climbing up the pyre, drowning out the sunset in their brightness, and the heat forced him to step back. Finding it hard to keep his eyes on the brightness he half-turned, letting his gaze drift across the others.

Jack, sombre and face immovable (yet the Seeker knew he was crying), his greatcoat done up right to the top, his collar tall and stiff. The soldier paying his last respect to a fallen comrade… The friend and lover grieving over his loss.

The Doctor, youthful face closed and worn, the stillness of his body a sharp contrast to his usual excited mania. And beside him Clara, silent and pale.

At the end, his father… And not one of them, not even the Seeker, would hazard to guess what thoughts were going through the Master’s mind.

A small, but select crowd, and he was the host. He didn’t feel like a host, didn’t want anyone there, yet at the same time he wanted to keep them all close - even Clara. (The Doctor was holding her hand as if she were his only anchor, and for the first time the Seeker understood why.) On their own, they were prone to wander off and do stupid things such as getting themselves killed.

> _He had sat with her body for a long time, the combination of crushing defeat and bone-deep grief paralysing him. He wasn’t good at this, had deliberately surrounded himself with near-immortals so he would not have to deal with death and loss…_
> 
> _He’d sent the hypercubes out in a daze, forcing himself to **do** something - if nothing else to stop himself from wondering why everything felt wrong._

Watching as the flames engulfed wood and fallen lover alike, his face hardened. He damn well knew why everything felt wrong. The feeling was in many ways similar to the devastation following the destruction of his Matrix… Except then he himself had been the only victim. Some would have said that it had only been just that he’d been killed by his pet project - that he’d needed to learn a little humility the hard way. Although the upshot had not been humility but a much greater focus; a TARDIS, an army of Toclafane, a war for the universe that he’d won, and plans stretching out much further than he’d ever dared envisage.

_Bitterness._

That was what this was.

Bitterness that despite everything, he had failed when it mattered the most.

Green eyes looked into orange flames and were lost to thought.

~~~

Clara shivered as the evening breeze picked up, even as the warmth from the funeral pyre made her face uncomfortably hot. Her feet were aching, and mostly she just wanted to go home. She was very sorry that the Redjay Time Lady had died, and the Doctor’s grief was as plain as day, but she felt very much out of her depth.

The Doctor had asked her to come, and of course she had said yes. The planet was as spectacular as she’d been told, except it had not been a day for admiring the landscape… And when she’d asked - innocently - how come the Redjay had died and not regenerated, the Seeker had shot her a look so full of wounded guilt and pain that she had almost taken a step back. 

After that she’d merely muttered ‘I am sorry for your loss’ and kept quiet. Clearly the two of them had been a lot closer than she’d thought. Both the Doctor and Jack had spoken before the pyre had been lit, and Clara now had a greater understanding of who the Redjay had been. The Master’s words, however, had been few.

“She was a worthy opponent,” he’d said, leaving Clara waiting for elaboration that never came. “Fitting,” the Doctor had muttered, and Clara was left trying to work out what was hidden behind the words.

The Seeker had kept silent, his face like a mask, but then he’d raised his arm, and suddenly there had been _music_. It had taken a moment or two before she realised that it was the Toclafane singing, as it seemed as if the whole world had broken into song. She recalled their childlike, yet oddly chilling, victory song from the Medusa Cascade, but this was something else… Solemn, beautiful; thousands of voices interweaving, the different strands separating and joining up in endless harmonies, constantly changing, evolving, yet never losing the central majestic and stately theme.

When it had finally died out, no one moved for the longest time, the silence stretching around them like negative space. Eventually she’d looked at the Doctor, and he’d quietly explained:

“It was a requiem. Gallifreyan. Very old; very very old. Going back to the earliest days. I thought it was lost…”

He’d shot the Seeker an inscrutable look, but the younger Time Lord had chosen that moment to light his torch, and somehow no one had spoken once the pyre had been lit.

Catching movement out of the corner of her eye, she saw the Master walking from the spot where he had so far stood like a statue, unmoving, and making his way to the Seeker, who slowly turned to study his father. The Master still creeped her out; his neatly trimmed beard, impeccable suit and woolen coat somehow adding to the subtle menace.

“Good send-off,” the Master finally said. “Bad death.”

The Seeker’s face went blank, but his father shook his head. “Don’t blame yourself, son. She was reckless and paid the price.” His mouth hardened. “Wish I’d done it myself. She deserved better; deserved to be killed by someone who truly cared.”

Father and son looked at each other, black hair framing their faces, young and older, and Clara could feel her heart beating.

“Please leave,” the Seeker eventually said, voice somehow simultaneously cold and choked with emotion, and his father gave him a nod, and walked away.

The exchange had evidently helped wake the Doctor from his silent musings, and, pulling Clara along, he too went up to their host.

“Seeker,” he said, plaiting his fingers and studying the younger Time Lord gravely.

“Thank you. For everything you did for her, tonight. But before I leave, I thought you should know that-”

The Seeker cut him off.

“That you saved Gallifrey, but it’s lost in another dimension. Yes I know.”

Surprise writ large on his face, the Doctor stared at him: “You… know? Did Roda tell you, before...?”

“Not as such, no. Met someone in another dimension who relayed the tale.”

“But then you-” A smile began to blossom on the Doctor’s face, but the Seeker shook his head sharply.

“I’m not going to help you find it. Quite frankly, right now…”

He sighed, bowing his head, staying silent for a long while.

“No, doesn’t matter. But... I wanted to let you know that her last words… She said she was sorry. And that she was sure someone would pick up the mantle. I think that was a message for you, rather than me. You go… do whatever you have to.”

He held out his hand, and after a moment’s hesitation the Doctor took it.

“Don’t be a stranger Doctor.”

“Likewise,” the Doctor replied quietly.

And then they left. Clara looked over her shoulder as they walked towards the TARDIS, seeing the Seeker sink down next to the fire, a small black silhouette against the golden glow, and wished she could have said or done something. She hoped someone else would be able to… No one should be alone after a loss, but the Seeker seemed to be actively pushing people away.

And there wasn’t anything she could do about that.

~~~

The pyre had disintegrated to a bed of hotly glowing embers, the heat radiating out in the evening air. Jack was the last one to still hang around, having fled into Roda's small library when the Doctor started saying his goodbyes.

Re-emerging some time later he found the Seeker sitting by the embers, legs crossed and as still as a statue. He almost looked like an actual statue, maybe carved out of something like ebony, his all-black clothing drinking up what light there was. As Jack tentatively sat down next to him, wondering what to say (there were no words, really), he - with a jolt - realised that the Seeker was crying. He wasn't moving, but his cheeks were wet and Jack faltered.

He had never seen the Seeker cry. He presumed that he must have cried, at some point, but Jack had never seen it before. Impulsively he put his arm around the Seeker's shoulders, pulled him close.

_(She was really gone. He found it hard to accept, despite all the people he had lost... If he closed his eyes, he could see her still - so broken, yet so defiant. She had said goodbye with a kiss… )_

What happened next would confuse him for years to come.

The Seeker turned, green eyes glistening and vulnerable, saying just _"Jack"_ , before reaching up, cradling Jack's cheek, and then - in as instinctive a motion as breathing - leaning in and kissing him.

For a moment Jack froze, but the Seeker was neither tentative nor unsure - Jack never since knew how to explain it, but it was like the kiss of an old lover. Very much like the kiss Roda had given him before she disappeared - the kiss of someone hurting and in need of comfort. It was as if Jack was the most familiar thing in the universe, and although it made no sense whatsoever he knew better than to question it, but just kissed him back.

For what seemed like lifetimes there was nothing but the two of them, but then the Seeker pulled back, looking at Jack with a look Jack couldn't decipher at all. He reached up, dried the tears from the Seeker's cheek, and the other momentarily closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.

Then he opened his eyes again, and it could have been a different man looking back at him.

"I'm sorry Jack," he said, slowly. "I shouldn't..."

Jack waited, unsure. And yet...

"Why not?" he asked. "If this is what you need..."

The Seeker watched him in silence for the longest time, then he shook his head.

"It's what I want, I can't lie about that. But... I don't want it like this. You deserve better."

Jack frowned.

"What do you mean?"

"Better than I can give you right now. I can find solace in a bottle, and probably will. But not with you. I can't-"

He broke off, stood on unsteady legs. The second sun had long since set, but there was still a faint glow on the edge of the horizon, enough to outline the Seeker’s pale face against the dark sky above.

Scrambling to his feet, Jack grasped the Seeker and turned him towards him.

"You _kissed_ me. Seeker- you can't just leave that lying there. What _was_ that?"

(They had known each other for more than three hundred years, and in all that time he’d been the Seeker’s ‘brother’. They had been the very definition of ‘platonic relationship’, and the Seeker had always reacted with distaste to the suggestion of anything more. What the hell had happened? Was it Roda’s death? Or something on his travels? It was a deviation from everything they’d ever had, and Jack felt like he was standing on quicksand.)

A strange little smile.

"Wishful thinking. Or nostalgia, depending how you look at it. Doesn't matter now."

" _Excuse_ me?"

(He’d lost Roda, the blow having only been somewhat softened by the safe return of the Seeker… He needed _something_ stable, going forward.)

"My Matrix blew up. Roda is... _lost_. I need to-" His eyes were a million miles away, and Jack knew what this meant. "I need to find the plans, build it properly. If I can go back, add her some time before she falls… At least she won’t be gone completely..."

Jack let his hand fall, recognising defeat when he saw it. The Seeker wouldn't be finding solace in drink, but drown himself in work instead.

 _'He feels as guilty as the rest of us'_ , he realised. She died in his arms, he must have felt so helpless…

“Were you listening?” the Seeker asked abruptly. “When I talked to the Doctor. When I told him her last words. Did you hear?”

Jack wasn’t sure where the Seeker was going with this, but decided that honesty was the best course of action.

“Yes,” he said cautiously, and the Seeker fell silent for a long moment. Then:

“I lied. No, that’s not true. Those _were_ her last words. Until I woke her up again.”

Jack could feel a strange prickling sensation at the back of his neck. What did he mean? The Seeker was staring at the glowing embers, as if speaking to himself.

“There is ancient Gallifreyan lore - myths and legends about something called the Sisterhood of Karn, who knew how to restore a Time Lord, how to trigger a regeneration when the body was too… _damaged_ to manage it on its own. So I tried.” A pause during which Jack couldn’t have spoken even if he’d wanted to.

“And those were her last words: ‘Well you tried’. I tried, and I _failed_.”

The bitterness in his words was so profound that Jack almost felt it physically, even as he tried to take on board what this meant. The Seeker hadn’t just watched her die - he’d seen it twice. And had run into the limitations of what he was capable of...

No wonder he was in such a state. This was more than grief, it was defeat.

Whatever the kiss had been (although he now had a better idea, even if the familiarity was still unexplained), this was clearly not the time to question it. It was clear, however, that the Seeker needed a release, some way of dealing - something to help him take his mind off everything.

"Listen, Seeker - I have invitations to a costume party. I will send you co-ordinates. When you are ready for a break, let me know, OK?"

He nodded, but Jack had a feeling that he might have to drag him out of his labs forcibly. He'd give it a month.

And he needed to piece his own life together as well.

A life without Roda. Two hundred years, and now she was gone. Where did they go from here?


	5. Act Four

“Do you trust me?”

She looked at him for the longest moment, as if seeing him from a great, great distance, then smiled gently.

“Yes.”

_What choice did she have?_

Roda couldn't help but muse. The Seeker – as always – was almost irritatingly cryptic and nothing about the whole situation made sense. The last thing she remembered was red grass, toclafane, pain. And then... what? She'd heard a TARDIS landing, but at the time, she'd assumed that her dying mind was playing tricks on her. Perhaps she'd just wanted to feel at peace one last time, or her TARDIS had somehow found her...

Looking up at the Seeker now she didn't known what to think, and frankly, she was too exhausted to try. She looked down at the tumbler that her old lover had gently placed in her hands, the smoke from the strange liquid pouring over her fingers as she held it between shaking hands. With the Seeker's hand on the base, she closed her eyes and raised the cup to her lips, hearts somehow, impossibly, racing, and swallowed it all.

For a second there was nothing except a numb pain, the Seeker bracing her as she rested the cup on her lap and coughed and choked. Her throat still burned from her accident, and her chest was screaming at her to stop moving. There was a wet sound in her ears and she realised that her lungs were filled up with fluid. As she finally stopped choking – seconds after she started, and not millennia as though it had felt – she glanced up at the Seeker and forced a bitter smile onto her face.

“Well, you tri-”

The tumbler clattered to the floor, bouncing and then rolling to rest against the door. Roda’s eyes widened in pain, and her mouth opened in a silent scream. She was briefly aware of the Seeker leaping forward, shouting something at her through wounded, worried eyes, his arm outstretched. A second later they were both blinded by the golden light from Roda’s face, her hands, every uncovered piece of skin. It… tingled, she realised, but it wasn’t a pleasant sensation. It was more like a million hot pins digging into her skin and moving around. Her skin felt like it was on fire, and were it not for the familiar glow of regenerative energy flooding the room, she wouldn’t have know what was happening.

The Seeker stood helplessly to the side, wanting to do something but unable to see. This was like no regeneration he had ever seen or heard of before. He had known that the potion, if it worked, would hurt - the book that he had found had stressed as much - but he’d expected it to be like any other change. He certainly hadn’t expected the entire room to fill with light, so hot and bright it was almost white, and though at first he’d planned just to cover his eyes he found himself scrunching them tightly shut instead, brow knitted into a frown, hoping that he hadn’t made a mistake. Before he did, he could just make out the silhouette of Roda’s robed body sitting on the bed.

He could hear her screaming. And it seemed to go on forever.

~~~

“...that was a rough one.”

It was over almost as soon as it started, but to Rodageitmososa, her regeneration seemed to last for hours.

She peeled open her eyes, blinking back little coloured dots that danced in front of her eyes, a wisp of regenerative smoke billowing above her as she took the first long, steady breath that she had managed in hours. As her chest rose and fell as normal, both her hearts hammering pleasantly enough, she almost laughed. A new life, a new face, another chance… it was more than she had dared to hope for when she’d arrived on the Seeker’s planet. And after all the time he was gone, the Seeker had been there when she’d needed him… it was poetic.

_“Will you be my someone tonight?”_

Still squinting, Roda groped for the edge of the bed she was lying on with both hands, pulling herself up with gloriously pain-free limbs. But before she had straightened up fully, the Seeker had clasped her face in both of his hands and was kissing her. Roda’s eyes widened once more. Had she somehow crossed their timelines and been saved by a Seeker whom she hadn’t broken up with yet? No… his face was wrong, he wasn’t her Seeker, he was the Seeker from the Medusa Cascade. But his features were softer. He was laughing, and crying, and he looked so vulnerable… Roda realised they both needed this. She’d kissed Jack goodbye, and now she was kissing the Seeker because she was alive, Rassilon, she was _alive_ …!

But then the Seeker pulled back from the kiss - all teeth and tongue - and tilted his head onto one side, a confused look on his face. Roda blinked at him and raised an eyebrow, about to ask him what was wrong when the Seeker interrupted with:

“I wasn’t expecting stubble.”

Roda laughed, quietly storing ‘lower voice, interesting’ away for later.

“Yeah, you do kinda need to shave.”

“Not me,” the Seeker spluttered, raising an inquisitive hand to Roda’s jaw once more. “You.”

“That’s ridicu-”

Roda paused, and then lifted her hand to her throat, massaging her throat and then running her hand up to her jaw. Sure enough, her slim fingers found a prominent Adam’s apple, and rough, scratching stubble. She put both hands on her cheeks, her grin fading into a confused scowl. Lower voice, Adam’s apple, an eleven o’clock shadow… Her jaw was more square, she might even have said strong, and she realised that even sitting on the bed, she was taller than the Seeker now. Tearing her gaze from her lover she looked down at her body, tugging at the fabric of the Prydonian robes he had dressed her in - and biting down a snort of disdain - before chuckling with surprise. Her chest was flat, her waist unpronounced. She didn’t have to let her hands trail any further down her body to realise that her new body was very different to her last.

“Would you look at that.”

The Seeker shook himself out of his shock as Roda reached for her fringe, trying to pull her hair in front of her eyes before studying her face with her hands once more.

“This is fascinating.”

Tongue between her lips, Roda snorted again. “I’m glad you think so.”

“I wonder if it was to do with the drink,” the Seeker thought out loud, as Roda swung her legs off the side of the bed and took a few tentative steps on longer, somewhat muscled legs. “Or maybe the trauma, or…” He froze, guilt spreading across his features as he realised what he’d said. Roda watched him carefully, not sure how to respond. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Roda shrugged, and turned to rifle through trays and bowls that stocked the Zero Room, looking for something reflective. She grinned broadly, discarding a scalpel to hold a tray in front of her face. Larger nose, blue eyes… curly dark brown hair - very dark - that fell in front of her eyes and would probably need trimming sooner rather than later. She had less freckles than before, and she would have sworn that this new body seemed younger. Facing the Seeker again, she added: “I’m alive.” Roda paused, then reached for the neck of her robes, stretching it out. “Ooh, I wonder…”

“What are you-”

The Seeker boggled. Roda’s lips spread into a Cheshire grin and she punched the Seeker playfully on the shoulder, averting her gaze. “Isn’t this what you guys do?” Her tone of voice was sickly innocent.

Taking a deep breath, the Seeker replied in as deadpan a voice as he could manage.

“'Humans, yes. Although I suppose you've lived on Earth for two hundred years…” He sighed, feigning distaste. “With Jack.”

“You were my lover.” Roda smirked, and without further ado reached out and took the Seeker by the hand. “And come on,” she started to pull him towards the Zero Room door, ignoring his spluttered attempts at convincing her to rest, or sit down, “I bet you’re wondering too…”

~~~

It was the gentlest love that they had ever made to each other.

Not because either was any less passionate. Roda had seemed almost deliriously happy to be alive (and honestly, who could blame him?) and as for the Seeker, he was high on the victory of bringing his lover back from the dead. And besides, how was he supposed to have refused such an offer from a beautiful man, that he desired, standing in front of him and asking him to be his first. Under any other circumstances, it would have been a dream come true. As it was, worried as he was that it was too good to be true, it still came in a close second.

The Seeker had been as gentle as he could be, eager both not to worsen Roda’s condition - it wasn’t as though Jack hadn’t hardened him against stressing over a loved one coming back from the dead, but Roda was a little less immortal than Jack was - or to hurt him more. Roda for his part, though confident and eager, took his time in learning how to make love with a wholly unfamiliar toolset.

He had trusted the Seeker and let him take control, and that in itself spoke volumes. The Seeker had asked her to trust him, and she had replied with more than simply words. She had put her life in his hands, and let go. It was an honour.

He watched Roda now, curled around him and using his chest as a pillow, as he slept off his past two days. Of course it had been many more for the Seeker; time was strange, sometimes. It would probably be the case for a while, the Seeker mused; regeneration would have taken enough out of him without dying first as well. He hadn’t said anything, but the sex had tired him out, and the Seeker had let it. This way, he would finally rest.

Gently, he pushed a few strands of hair out of Roda’s eyes and studied him. He was certainly attractive now, and looked almost as young as he did himself. It was strange seeing Roda so… delicate. Soft hands, no scars other than the one in his shoulder (her/his first regeneration had apparently gone wrong, too). But more than anything else he was whole, a clean slate. He didn’t think he could stand to see her so broken ever again.

Although it would certainly take some getting used to. From what Roda had told him, gender wasn’t something most Time Lords cared much about. Those who spent a lot of time amongst species like humans tended to think otherwise but High Gallifreyan, as a language, didn’t differentiate. The addition of Time _Lady_ to the language was a modern invention, a sort of Gallifreyan suffragette movement, but in a species that no longer bore children naturally and where two (or even three) individuals of the same gender could loom a child, it wasn’t so important. Undressing him, the Seeker had asked Roda what he wanted and Roda had grunted that ‘he’ would do. So he it was.

He was about to close his eyes and catch some sleep of his own - he’d been awake for days, and the potion itself had taken months - when Roda started to stir. Just barely, at first, someone making themselves more comfortable in their sleep, and then more obviously. He stretched, endless legs and arms - Roda was much more lanky in this regeneration – nuzzled into the Seeker, and then opened one eye with a slight smirk. Roda tilted his head to meet the Seeker’s gaze.

“You’re still here.”

“Well,” the Seeker smiled right back, “it is my planet.”

“I suppose it is.”

Despite his playful, if tired tone of voice, it was obvious to the Seeker – who knew him/her so well – that Roda had something on his mind. In his last regeneration Roda had favoured little gestures in venting her thoughts; clenching her fists subconsciously, chewing on her bottom lip until it bled. This time it was simply a look in his eyes, a steady, thoughtful stare that was almost unnerving. He was strangely still, at odds with what the Seeker was better used to, bar for one hand tracing nonsense High Gallifreyan into the Seeker's sweat-soaked skin.

Eventually he had to break the silence, if only for his own peace of mind.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

There was a second's hesitation, just a second – this regeneration of Roda's seemed to be about as subtle as his last had been – before Roda rolled onto his back.

“I need to ask you a favour.”

“Anything.”

“I need to disappear.”

The Seeker sat up on autopilot, and simply… stared at Roda. He had just gotten him/her back, was he supposed to let him go again? Or perhaps Roda meant to hide out on his planet, after all, no one else knew that he’d returned, yet. He studied him, looking for some sort of tell, waiting for an explanation, but none was forthcoming. Roda opened his mouth to say more, but the Seeker started to laugh.

“You needn’t have been so thorough.” Roda shot him a sardonic look. “Last time was a _lot_ easier.”

“That was to fool a couple of people. I’m talking a… larger scale.”

“Either way,” the Seeker waved his hand, “if you’d given me a heads up, we could have saved _you_ a lot of pain and _me_ a lot of worrying and hard wor-”

“How did you find me?”

“...what?”

The Seeker tipped his head to one side, and Roda shrugged, sitting up to face him. He had an oddly focused expression on his face.

“How did you find me? You were gone - I looked - and I was in the middle of nowhere.” Roda had the grace to look sheepish. “I’d aimed for the library, but apparently I missed.”

The Seeker pursed his lips. Roda probably wouldn’t like the answer. Saved by the Toclafane? If his glimpse into her thoughts when she was dying were anything to go by that would be her idea of a nightmare. Not that he could blame him, of course, not after The Year That Never Was. And then a thought came to mind. If he could convince him that the Toclafane were not the demons he thought they were, explain to him that they had saved his life, then perhaps he would open his mind to what the Seeker had planned. After all, he’d managed to win over Other World Roda, through continually demonstrating that what she thought he was going to do, and what he actually did, were different things

All the same, he might save mentioning his pet Dalek to him for another time.

“The Toclafane brought me to you.” Roda glared at him, but the Seeker simply raised a hand and continued. “I know you don’t think much of them but they were worried, Roda. My TARDIS took me to them, and they took me to you.”

Roda was still frowning, but it looked more thoughtful than angry. That, at least was a relief.

“How long ago?”

The Seeker shrugged, his face reddening a little. “A few weeks? Maybe a month? I… lost track. The potion - I’ll show you the book I found it in later, really Roda, your library is Aladdin’s cave! - took longer than I thought.” He paused. Something was strange; the string of conversation had come out of nowhere. “Why are you asking?”

“I just… wanted to know before I… explained.”

The Seeker listened carefully to what Roda had to say, giving him his full attention. Roda had rested his forehead against the Seeker’s - for comfort, likely - but he wasn’t using telepathy. He started out quiet, apologetic, but as he launched into his plans, he got more and more passionate, excited, even angry. The Seeker had never seen Roda get so emotional. He told him about Gallifrey - not that he hadn’t heard it from Missy, but it was interesting to hear it from Roda’s lips - and the argument he’d had with the Doctor. He told him exactly why she had had been exiled, and he told the Seeker what he had to do. And why no one, even the Seeker, could know about it.

He’d been silent throughout the entire explanation, just letting Roda talk, but when he was done, and looking at him with such expectant eyes, the Seeker couldn’t keep quiet.

“I…” The Seeker swallowed, and took a deep calming breath, before continuing. “I’m grateful that you’re confiding in me, but let me get this straight. You want me to _forget_?” He ran a hand through his fringe, gesturing at Roda with the other. “Not just what you’ve told me, but _everything I did?_ You want me to forget that I brought you back? Forget that I - I re-created forgotten knowledge? Literally, the most incredible thing I have ever done!” He put a hand on Roda’s cheek, more hurt than he could find the words for. “Forget… _you?_ ” He swallowed again. “How can I live with that? How can I live with thinking that I failed you?”

“You didn’t-”

“But I’ll think I did! Roda, you don’t know what you’re asking. I’ll lose you. Again. You died in my arms, I can’t-” He shook his head. “How can you _possibly_ ask me that?”

"Seeker."

Roda pushed the Seeker’s hand away, and cupped his face in his own like he had so often done to him before. He fidgeted a little, making himself more comfortable so that he was sitting on his knees, the sheets forgotten, half straddling the Seeker’s lap. It felt strange to the Seeker; Roda’s hands were too big, softer, hadn't had time to callous yet. And Roda was so tall… He had to lean down to rest his forehead against the Seeker's and the Seeker could feel his stubble brush against his skin. He would have to lend him a razor - such a strange thought, given the circumstances.

Roda closed his eyes, and when he spoke again his voice was quiet, uncertain.

"Give me this one thing. I never ask for much.” The Seeker snorted despite himself. Roda never asked for anything, but this? This was surely too much. Roda paused at the snort, his lip twitching with something; irritation, or upset. It was impossible to tell. “...I wouldn't ask for it if I didn't need you..." Roda opened his eyes, looking deep into the Seeker’s with an expression that said the unspoken words so clearly. He smirked, but it was almost forced. “I guess my new model is a little more shades of grey, huh?”

> _“The new face was a bit of a surprise,” Roda said, studying him. “How recent?”_
> 
> _“I’m from the future - relative to you and Jack at least. Been a bit of a hermit for the past few years - more so than usual. Busy with new projects.”_
> 
> _“So I see,” she said, shooting the Toclafane a piercing glance. “This new model is a bit more shades of grey, huh?”_

The words hit the Seeker like Roda must have known they would… He could still vividly remember her as she had been on the Crucible - lost and utterly defeated - and they both of them clearly still recalled the ways in which he’d betrayed her. But he had taken what he wanted, won the war on _his_ terms, without ever asking, or even considering her. And then he’d left, without so much as a proper goodbye, high on his victory and the promise of future empires...

 _Pride._ It always came down to pride.

But he had learned a lesson a very long time ago, and Roda had been the one who’d taught it to him - although she probably didn’t even know it.

Just because the wonders of the universe happened to be at his fingertips didn’t mean that he had a _right_ to them. And when one of those wonders happened to be somebody that he wanted, someone he _loved…_

( _‘I truly am a fantastically privileged spoiled arrogant entitled jerk’_ \- and he still was. Oh he still was.)

He was quiet, for a long time. Roda watched him, his breath held. There was so much to consider, but… who was he to deny Roda this?

"Okay."

"Okay?”

Roda blinked, clearly surprised by the answer. His response stung the Seeker a little bit - did he always expect the worst? People were always too quick to judge, no wonder he’d needed to get away - but he realised he deserved it, deep down. If this was what Roda needed to get closure on the Medusa Cascade, then so be it. And besides; whether he approved of his plan or not, Roda’s cause was… just. And these had been his last thoughts, when she’d thought she was dying. For better or worse, the Seeker wouldn’t stand in his way.

“Just like that?"

"...Just like that. You have my,” the Seeker fished for words, “permission? I'm not sure about my blessing."

"Good thing I don't need it.” Roda grinned, planting a quick, relieved kiss onto the Seeker’s lips. “No offence, I just..." Roda glanced into the distance. "I have to do this."

The Seeker smiled, sadly. "Let me guess; it's not me, it's you?"

Blue eyes crinkled at the corners, studying him candidly.

"Well, it'll certainly be good for your humility," Roda said drily, and the Seeker shot him a piercing glance. Damn him. That was below the belt. (And uncomfortably accurate.) This new regeneration clearly didn’t beat around the bush…

Then he sighed. He was so _tired_. Had thought the hard work over, except now there was more.

Now he had to fool _himself_. How the hell was he going to do that? A mindwipe was fairly straightforward, but there could be no tells - not the tiniest hint that he’d succeeded. Roda had used a chameleon arch on herself before, and he wished there was a solution that straightforward available for this issue. The house would have to be as it had been when he went to wake her, not a single item out of place. He’d lost track of time already, so that was good, but it’d be prudent to fudge his mind a little more. And he’d have to create fake memories. Not to mention a copy, perfect in every detail...

Realising that he’d gone completely quiet, he thought he’d better fill Roda in:

“I’ll need to make a copy of you. The dead you,” he clarified, his busy mind already creating new lists, with subheadings and footnotes. (No rest for the wicked…) “Good enough to fool myself. A flesh copy would probably work best… Good thing I have all your details stored, and plenty of DNA.”

“You do like a challenge though, don’t you?” Roda asked innocently, and the Seeker didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

“Yes, yes I do. My best bloody work, ever, and it’ll all hinge on me not remembering it. I hope you appreciate the perversity of it. However, I think there is a more pressing concern...”

Ruthlessly stomping down on his rapidly expanding new plans, the Seeker kissed Roda on the forehead, and glanced at the door. They had a long way to go, both of them, and he would have liked for them to do it together, but he would content himself with the fact that they were alive. How he would handle losing Roda after everything he had done remained to be seen…but their relationship - as friends, lovers, or whatever they were - would weather it. It always had before. For now, he wanted to enjoy what time he had left. And that could mean only one thing.

“How about waffles?”

Roda rolled his eyes, and absentmindedly rubbed his forearm. Within their little, disjointed family of Time Lords and immortals, there was something of a waffle tradition, and Roda was still sore about the time the Master had dislocated her arm by throwing a waffle iron at her. No matter what was going on in their lives, everything noteable seemed to in some way be punctuated by the presence of waffles, be it celebratory or otherwise. The Seeker couldn’t help but grin at the pout on his lover’s face, letting himself have one small victory.

“If I _must_.”

The Seeker smiled wryly.

“Waffles. After which I need to create a dead Roda, followed by a mindwipe… Well, _parts_ of today will have been pleasant....”

Roda’s face softened, and gently kissed his lover, prolonging the kiss until he felt the Seeker relax into his touch, letting go. Eventually he pulled away, studying the Seeker’s green eyes, now calm - almost peaceful.

“Waffles it is then.”

~~~~

He sat with her body for a long time, the combination of crushing defeat and bone-deep grief paralysing him. He wasn’t good at this, had deliberately surrounded himself with near-immortals so he would not have to deal with death and loss…

He could see the cup - she had dropped it, and it had clattered to the floor, bouncing and then rolling to rest against the door. He should go pick it up, analyse the remnants - except why bother? She was gone.

 _‘Well you tried’_ hung over him, and it was almost as if a mist had descended at that point. As if he couldn’t believe his own eyes when she gasped as if in pain, and then collapsed, her body almost caving in on itself… At least there was now a peaceful smile on her face.

He wanted to curl up, all alone, and never come out. Wanted to scream his frustration, make someone _pay_ , although her murderer had already been killed. Wanted to go ask his father exactly what dark tricks could be employed to bring a Time Lady back to life. (Except he knew how his father’s mind worked, knew what kind of methods he favoured. And how much Roda would hate and despise being brought back through such means. There would be a price to pay… And if he paid it, he would truly lose her forever.)

The only thing left to do was to give her a fitting send-off. He’d seen something about a requiem in one of her books…

Forcing himself to get on his feet, still feeling as if his head was in a daze and unable to focus properly, he decided he should probably start by sending out hypercubes. That way he’d be committed to taking action.

If only everything didn’t feel so wrong…

~The End~


	6. Next Time Preview

Roda sat in the Medusa Cascade for a long time; he lost track of how long. More than once he fell asleep, his head resting against the open door frame and only the forcefield around his TARDIS keeping him from tumbling into the endless black. The old girl had been possessive when Roda had returned to him, after a couple of days helping the Seeker with the body double, and the less than pleasant task of wiping one of his closest friend’s mind. He’d spent a few more nights with the Seeker as a sort of recompense for asking the impossible of him.

It wasn’t quite as though this regeneration of his minded being blunt and selfish, he realised with a bitter smile, but that didn’t mean he was entirely proud of himself.

The first thing he’d done after kissing the Seeker goodbye was return to Cardiff and make a beeline for his TARDIS. (Well, after going back in time and lifting Jack’s vortex manipulator from where it had been left in the grass on the Seeker’s planet. He’d taken the Seeker’s perception filter bracelet, too; a pretty little thing, that he knew the Seeker no longer used. It would probably come in handy at some point.) Either Jack hadn’t managed to find her, or the TARDIS hadn’t let him in; she’d been exactly where Roda had left her, and the Seeker had found her.

The door had opened before Roda even touched it and if Roda had thought the Seeker was relieved to have brought him back to life, the TARDIS was beyond ecstatic. Roda wasn’t going to be able to leave for days and honestly, he didn’t think he wanted to. Nearly two thousand years together… no wonder the old girl was hurting.

It had taken some convincing, but his TARDIS, too, had finally consented to the next part of Roda’s plan. He’d been modifying his TARDIS since the first day he left Gallifrey, but making it untraceable had been his biggest challenge. He was going to be making little repairs for his sins for a while, but it was worth it. If he was going to fake his death, and fake it properly, so that not even his closest friends could find him, then he had to be untraceable. For once being severed from the Matrix had come in handy; if no one in Gallifrey knew he had left the Time Lock - or whatever it turned out had happened - then they would assume he had died in the War.

And even if they didn’t, no one would be looking for a Time Lord. His regeneration couldn’t have gone any less smooth but it couldn’t have been better timed, either.

Not that there were many people who would question he was dead. The Seeker might - he, if no one else, knew exactly how many regenerations he had left - but he would believe his own eyes. The Doctor would struggle with the self-imposed guilt of having argued with her right before the fall. It was Jack that Roda felt the worst about misleading; after two hundred years of working and sleeping together, losing another friend to ‘Torchwood’ was worse than he deserved. And Roda realised with heavy hearts that he would miss Jack, the most. The Master, Roda supposed, would probably be too delighted by the news of her death to question his good fortune and as for Rassilon, there was no guarantee the Lord President would survive the War.

That was a worry for a much later date, but a serious one, all the same. There was a lot of work to be done, and it was going to be damn near impossible to preserve his/her timeline in the process. Roda wasn’t sure quite where he was going to start - he would have to start planning, like the Seeker always did. The thought made him grimace - but he knew for sure that it was going to take him a very, very long time...


End file.
